


Reconstruction

by Killermanatee, Wians



Series: Something Real [5]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, M/M, Making Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23734099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killermanatee/pseuds/Killermanatee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wians/pseuds/Wians
Summary: After they have spend a year apart, Chris shows up on Phil's doorstep.Follow-up to "Overload."
Relationships: Philip Boyce/Christopher Pike
Series: Something Real [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601890
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

After a long shift at Starfleet medical, prolonged by a complicated heart transplantation that took twice as long as usual, Phil is finally at home. It’s past ten pm, he still smells of hospital despite showering before he left, and all he wants is dinner and some quiet reading to take his mind off life before bed. 

Even after a full year the apartment still seems dark and empty, feels cold. At first, he assumed the sensation would pass, that it was just a question of getting used to living alone again, that he’s merely a creature of habit, accustomed to sharing his life with Chris.

Of course now that idea of only needing enough time has proven itself completely absurd. It’s not just because of how long he and Chris have shared a home, it’s about how much of himself he has given away and how much everything about him has become about being _together_. 

Not having to be the one responsible for Chris’ life has certainly helped Phil’s mental health; he no longer wakes up in a cold sweat, haunted by thoughts of a day when his skills won’t be sufficient. What is still left in the back of his skull is the constant lingering worry. He knows Chris can handle himself, knows his husband is strong and sharp and talented, that his medical staff is more than capable, but the needling fear to receive _that_ call still remains, the sickening dread of loss you only feel for someone you love. Especially now when Chris has been on a diplomatic mission somewhere out of comm range for two months. This worry is the one permanence of Chris in his life, now that they haven’t seen each other in almost a year.

Phil sighs, a pang settling under his heart. It’s when he gets home after a long day like this, that he misses Chris the most. They’ve never lived together in this place, Chris has not even seen it, and so it lacks the warmth of their past homes. Chris has never left his toothbrush in the bathroom, never sang in the shower, never offered a kiss and a hug at the end of a long shift. They have never shared the kitchen table, the couch, or the bed. In here it’s like Chris doesn’t exist, reduced to memories and warbled messages on screens. 

Phil knows from months of experience that the loneliness in his rather desolate apartment won’t go away if he dwells on it, so he forces himself to keep going with the established routine. He hangs up his warm overcoat, and takes off his shoes, thinking he might call Chris, though he knows he’s probably still out of comm range. If anything he can at least record a message.

Standing in his kitchen he suddenly remembers that he planned to pick up food before his whole afternoon went to hell. There’s always the replicator but unlike Chris, he prefers to avoid artificial meals. It’s bad enough he has to stick to it at the hospital, so he takes stock of what the cupboards and the fridge have to offer. His thoughts are still on Chris as he rummages around, and finally settles on just making a sandwich. 

He eats at the sink, too tired to deal with a decent sit-down-meal, thoughts still circling his state of melancholy. 

At first, he was mostly angry, feeling Chris abandoned what they built together, just let him go without a fight. Over the course of their separation the anger has dissipated, only leaving behind bone-deep sadness and sense of loss.

He spent two weeks in Denmark after returning to earth, visiting his family, but mostly hanging out in his best friend Tee’s apartment, where they smoked weed, got drunk, unfolded their artistic sides, even if Tee’s a professional where Phil clearly isn’t. Living into the days was the perfect opposite to his life on the Yorktown, and provided the much-needed chance to unburden his heart about Chris. Ever since their days at university Tee has always just got him. 

Despite it all Phil doesn’t feel that being apart from Chris has solved anything, on the contrary, all he knows that running from their conflicts was the wrong call. 

He brushes away a few stray crumbs and as he’s just about to head to bed, the chime of the doorbell tears him from his thoughts. He looks at his pager with a frown, but it’s silent, so it’s not an overheard hospital emergency. A little concerned, he walks out to open the door, wondering who pays a visit this late.

The sight makes all his thoughts come to an abrupt stop and squeezes his chest. 

_Chris._

Chris stands outside. Here. On Earth. 

He has an undetermined expression on his face, hair tousled a little, like he’s been running his fingers through it. He’s got a duffle bag over his shoulder, wears an overcoat speckled with a few drops of rain, and he looks tired. 

The wave of emotions hits Phil square in the chest, all of it tearing at him at once; the confusion, joy, need to hold Chris, to yell at him, to cry and laugh. 

Mostly out of reflex he almost walks out to act on them, to hug and kiss and just get back to ‘honey, how was your day?’.

But that’s not how things are between them. 

There are just too many questions. Why is he here? Why now? Why hasn’t he even called? How long can he stay? Are sporadic, random show-ups their way now? 

In the middle of all this inner chaos his first words tumble out in a rush, sounding a lot more gruff than he intended “What the hell are you doing here?”

Chris blinks, and his expression closes off. Phil bites his tongue. Damn it. 

“What, are you busy?” Chris asks sourly.

Hit by the harshness of the question Phil takes a step back. “No, no come in.” 

He uses opening the door as an excuse to look away for a moment and swallows a sigh, his stomach feeling heavy. Two seconds in, and they’ve already managed to snap at each other. 

Chris leaves his duffle and hangs up his coat. As Phil watches him untie his laces he stands to the side trying to figure out what to do or say or even feel. 

Chris is as slender and impeccably dressed as ever, even in civvies. If it wasn’t for the mussed hair and tension across his shoulders he’d look like any other time he’s come home. 

Home. The word that doesn’t apply to this place for him. 

“How are you?” Meant as a peace offering, the words are impersonal, as if they are still on opposite sides of the quadrant.

“I’m fine. KInda tired,” Chris says, placing the shoes to the side and straightening up. “You?”

Phil wraps his arms around his midsection, pulling his cardigan closed, keenly aware of the lack of physical contact between them despite them having been apart for a year. 

“I’m okay,” he says, showing Chris into his living room. “Please have a seat.”

‘Please have a seat’, like they’re strangers. 

“So, these are the new ‘fleet quarters, huh?” Chris asks, looking around awkwardly.

“Yeah, they only finished them last year,” Phil answers tonelessly and wants to scream. 

None of this is turning out the way he’s spent hours thinking about; in all those nights he wasted, creating dreams of grand gestures and heartfelt reunions. 

Chris is sitting on the edge on the sofa, back ramrod straight. He looks like he’s preparing for a disciplinary hearing, like he’d rather be anywhere but in this room. Phil is vividly and painfully reminded of the same image Joakim presented just before breaking up with him all those years ago.

He refuses to believe Chris is here to end their relationship, but he’s never seen him so apprehensive when it’s only the two of them. 

He walks in the direction of the kitchen, just to have something to do. “I’ll get us something to drink.”

He stares around in his cupboards, desperately trying to figure out what to offer. Coffee? It’s a little late for him, and seems so... business-like? He’s got an assortment of liqueurs, but he’s fairly sure that’s not a good idea. Tea isn’t really Chris’ thing, neither is juice. When did something so simple become so hard? He sighs and returns to the living room where Chris still sits like he’s about to jump off the sofa.

Phil stands in the door frame, feeling as awkward as Chris looks. “What do you want? To drink, I mean. It’s a bit late for coffee for me… I’ve got the usual: tea, juice, beer... ”

Chris runs his fingers through his hair, making it curl even more. “Tea’s fine. Thanks.” 

Phil nods and walks out into the kitchen again. He’s never been this tense with Chris nearby, and after the day he’s had it makes the exhaustion even heavier. All he wants is to curl up on the couch with the man he loves. Seems like they are a long way from that right now. 

He sets the can of tea leaves down on the kitchen counter too hard, so it tips and falls onto his foot, making him yelp in pain and exclaim in Danish under his breath. The tin clatters on the floor, tea spilling everywhere. 

“You okay?” Chris appears in the room, and the concern in his voice and his presence alone feel almost like everything is still the same. Almost. For a moment. 

Then Phil recalls why he’s making tea at ten pm in the first place. 

“Yeah, just dropped the box onto my foot,” Phil says tiredly, putting the tin back on the counter and hitting the switch for the robovac before turning to Chris. “Guess our options have just been cut down.” 

Chris makes a face in sympathy. “Want me to make some? We can always use the replicator,” he says, showing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

“No, it’s fine. I’m just tired.” Usually this is where he’d tease Chris for his unnatural love of replicated food, but Phil doesn’t dare going there now, afraid that it will blow out of proportion, and he has absolutely no energy for another fight. Instead he gets out another tin, not even looking what it is.

Chris nods and sits down on one of the stools by the kitchen island. It could be so easy to think of this is routine, of the two of them wrapping up the day together. But the silence is deafening and so Phil focuses on preparing a fresh tea filter. 

“Nice place,” Chris states, sounding polite and stiff. 

“I haven’t even showed you around,” Phil says as he’s turning on the kettle.   
  
“You don’t have to,” Chris says dismissively, as if he doesn't care where Phil has spent the past year. A part of Phil wants to ask him why he is here when he clearly doesn’t want to be. At least his awkwardness certainly points in that direction 

“Where are you staying?” Phil asks, doing his best to opt for a neutral tone. 

Chris clears his throat, straightens his back, looks quickly at Phil and then away.

“Officer’s quarters, I guess.”

Phil’s stomach flips. So much for going back to normal. 

“Oh…” is all he says, worried about what will come out if he asks what he really wants to know. 

Chris not wanting to stay feels like a slap to the face. Phil opens his mouth, but he’s at such a loss for words he just closes it again. There must be something to say that will bridge the gap between them, but he can’t figure out what that would be. 

Despite it all he can’t help but feel a little warm at the sight of Chris in his kitchen. Even through all the pain and confusion his heart still beats faster. Now the only question is whether that’s still the case for Chris. What if Chris won’t stay? What if after a year apart their relationship has been irreparably broken? 

They can’t go back to how things were, Phil is too hurt. They need to talk, and they have to figure out how to fix their problems and finally stop avoiding them. 

None of it changes the fact that Chris is right here, and the need to touch him, as well as the thought of losing him are unbearable. 

The silence between them is suffocating, all their issues and disagreements press down onto his lungs, make him feel like he’s drowning. Being apart was hell, but this is just a different level. 

How did they end up so lost? 

Chris sighs heavily and scrubs a hand down his face. “Damn it. What are we doing, Phil?” 

Phil sighs too, and his body feels impossibly heavy. “I don’t know.” He really wants to scream out his frustration but all the energy has been drained, leaving nothing but helplessness. 

It is Chris who breaks the silence when he gets up, ever the courageous one. His eyes are fixed on Phil as he slowly comes closer and Phil sees all of his own complicated emotions reflected back at him. Chris’ arms are at his side, his entire posture one of appeasement while his expression is open, even if the lines around his eyes remain, showing the underlying tension. 

He stops just short of Phil’s intimate space, barely within reach. “Let’s start over,” he states quietly, and opens his arms just enough to be an invitation. 

Phil doesn’t even think about it and lets his instinct take over. It only takes a small step to be in Chris’ arms. His heart is in his throat as they pull each other closer, and he presses his face against Chris’ hair, takes in the scent of his shampoo, the heat of his body and his solid strength as their bodies fit together just as well as they always have. Chris in turn leans his head against Phil’s shoulder, pressing against him. 

“I missed you.” Chris’ voice rumbles through his chest and Phil pulls him in even closer, his throat too raw to answer.

He just tightens his hold on Chris, who does the same. For long minutes neither of them move, the only sound in the kitchen their breaths. As the body heat seeps into Phil, with Chris’s strong arms enclosing him, it is finally starting to sink in; the reality of being together. 

When he thinks he has recovered enough, Phil clears his throat. “Please stay? Here, I mean, tonight, as long as you want.” His voice sounds rough and strained. Then he quickly adds, “ _If_ you want.” 

There is no immediate reaction and just as the anxiety finds its way back up, Chris exhales deeply and leans back just enough so they can look at each other. 

“I was hoping you’d offer. I didn’t reserve any quarters, and the accommodations' office is closed,” Chris says with a smirk.

Damn, he’s missed this, their usual easy way of being together, the banter, Chris’ easy confidence. 

“Bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” Phil teases and leans his forehead to Chris’. It speaks volumes that in response Chris lets his hands brush up and down Phil’s back. They stay quiet for a moment, apparently both unwilling to let go. 

Chris is the one to break the silence. “I’m sorry for showing up without warning.” His tone is serious, his words quiet, almost insecure, hurting Phil’s chest. 

He runs a hand up into Chris’ hair pulling him close. So many responses go through Phil’s head, most of them tinted by hurt and frustration, some too kind to be honest. In the end he settles for the simple truth of the moment. 

“I’m just happy you’re here.”


	2. Chapter 2

There is an understanding between them that as much as they need to talk, late at night when both of them are tired isn’t the time and place. They never get around to drinking that tea, instead Phil shows Chris around the apartment, ending in the bedroom. He opens the closet, that he has only used one side of. 

The implication is maybe too much for tonight but Phil’s also not going to lie about what he still hopes for. Next to him Chris inhales deeply and then squeezes Phil’s hand; a gesture just enough to feel hopeful. 

They take turns in the bathroom and while Phil tries to decide on what to wear to bed, he hears Chris in the shower. The contrast between the familiar sound of the bath running, proof that Chris is here with him, and the deafening lack of the singing usually accompanying it, makes Phil’s stomach turn. He hates this feeling of having to walk on eggshells, fearful of the future. His husband is right here, they’re about to sleep next to each other, but he is stuck on deciding what to wear because things aren't even remotely the way they used to be.

In the end he opts for sleeping pants and a t-shirt, and lies down waiting for Chris. The crime novel he’s been reading is one of the better, but he’s incapable of focussing on the words tonight. He’s too keenly aware of Chris’ moving behind the closed doors. 

He sighs and leans back against the pillow, eyes closed, feeling the exhaustion catch up again. It’s been a really long day. No, not just a day. It’s been a damn long year and right now every single hour of it turns to lead in his bones. 

The shifting mattress startles him, and he looks up at Chris in a t-shirt and boxers, hair damp from the shower. 

“Sorry.” Chris pauses in an unusual display of self-consciousness, swallows and then adds. “I hope it’s okay to presume you meant for me to come to bed, because I can always…”

Phil stops him. “Please stay.” He pauses. “If you’d like.” 

Normally, they’d curl up close to each other, chat about their day, the plans for tomorrow, maybe they’d just read. Phil longs for the small moments, casual touches, all the gestures that appear so simple and now mean so much. Sure, the air is easier between them, but there is still a large elephant in the room, demanding to be addressed, currently all too obvious in the gap between them under the shared comforter. 

They both shift so they are facing each other. Chris still looks like he’s expecting to be kicked out, so Phil reaches out to squeeze his hand. It puts a crooked smile on Chris’ lips. 

“Not exactly like past reunions, is it?” he asks, his humor lined with tension. 

Phil sighs and rubs this thumb over Chris’s knuckles. “No. Not quite.”

Do they kiss? Phil wonders. Do they just say goodnight and each turn around? Should they maybe talk even if it’s late?

Chris interrupts his thoughts. “We’ll figure it out, right?”

All Phil wants is hug and make up and go back to everything being fine. If only it was that easy. 

“Yes. We will. We always do.” 

Chris’ face softens. The blue of his eyes brightens while the surrounding lines grow a little deeper, and Phil is struck by how much he has missed him, how much it means to have him here. 

“But tomorrow. When we’ve had some sleep.”

Chris opens his mouth, but then seems to stop himself and instead swallows before he tries again. “Tomorrow.” 

\---

Neither of them gets a good night’s sleep. Phil wakes up a few times, trying not to disturb Chris as he turns, although he can tell that Chris doesn’t seem to be faring much better. Maybe they’re simply both not used to someone else in their bed anymore, maybe Chris is just as preoccupied with the talk they need to have, maybe it’s just that damn year apart. 

Their bodies seem to be ahead of their minds because they keep scooting closer whenever they drift off to sleep. But just as he’s about to curl around Chris, his fingertips touch cotton instead of bare skin and Phil is instantly awake enough to roll over to the other side. 

When he manages to doze off, he dreams of red alerts, and flat lining heart rates and when the lights come on at seven he feels more drained than the night before. 

Chris is still asleep, head turned away, mumbling softly into the pillow. His hair is a curly mess and Phil’s fingers itch to run through it. But Instead he rubs his face and quietly drags himself out of bed to head for the shower, mostly to give him something to do. 

Phil stays under the hot water twice as long as usually, fully aware that he’s procrastinating. Out in the bedroom waits… a fight? hurt? making up? He’s just as lost as the night before. He settles for vigorously scrubbing his hair, hoping it will make him feel more focused. 

When he finally emerges from the bathroom, fully dressed and shaved, the empty bed makes him stop in his tracks, but then the alluring aroma of fresh coffee hits his nose. His mood slightly more steady again, he walks out into his kitchen to find Chris perched on one of the barstools, a mug of coffee by his side, next to another empty one.

Chris looks up and pushes the other mug over. “Morning. I made coffee.”

Phil pours himself a large cup and groans with bliss when the first gulp of scorching hot, perfectly strong coffee burns its way down his throat, so much better and effective than the replicated stuff could ever be. It’s a sweet gesture on Chris’ part, and Phil smiles at him as he sits down.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Chris returns his smile, one hand still on the padd he was reading. 

“What are your plans today?” Phil asks after another swig of coffee. “I’m hoping I can get a half-day off, and be home just after lunch,” as he says it, he feels the tightening of a nervous knot in his stomach.

“I’ve got a meeting with Admiral Marcus at nine, and then I was going to get in some training at the gym. That’s about it.”

Phil nods. “Would you mind stocking the fridge and getting something for dinner? Really just whatever you’d like to eat.” 

“Sure, I can do that,” Chris answers, and it’s almost like being back to normal if it wasn’t for the uncomfortable silence that descends next. Phil takes another sip of his coffee and stands to find the eggs and veggies to make breakfast. 

When he leaves twenty minutes later, he gives Chris the code to the apartment. It’s an awkward moment as they stand in the hallway, clearly neither of them sure of what’s protocol for a situation like theirs. 

Phil eventually settles for “Feel right at home. I’ll message you as soon as I know when I can leave.”

His fingers twitch with the need to cup the back of Chris’ head and pull him in for a kiss, so he shoves his fists into his coat pockets and leaves. He almost misses Chris saying “Stay safe”. Almost. 

\---

After he has requested a half-day of leave, Phil’s workday rushes by as he keeps himself busy. He mostly manages to avoid thinking about the conversation he and Chris need to have before he’s off at two pm, for once not held up by any crisis. 

When he enters his flat, he notices Chris’ jacket is on the hook, his shoes by the shoe rack, and that is enough to make him smile. 

“Chris?” he calls, walking in after taking off his own shoes and jacket. 

“In here!”

Chris sits in the living room, a pad beside him on the couch, and a closed-off look on his face. To anyone else this may register as Chris’ professional stoicism, but Phil knows better. Chris wants to keep himself under control and Phil can’t help but wonder whether this is going to make matters easier or more difficult. 

Anxiety is starting to twist his stomach. He doesn’t know what to expect, doesn’t know what to do. The hug yesterday, the promise of figuring things out gave him hope, but Chris’ ruthless words from a year ago are just as present:  _ If you don't want what I have to offer, then piss off! _

He’s not sure if he can take another blowout. For a second he considers stalling by beginning with small talk, but then dismisses the idea right away. They don’t need more distractions, and certainly no more superficial impertinence after a year much too full of it. So instead, Phil takes a deep breath and walks over to take a rather stiff seat on the other end of the couch. Lump in his stomach or not, running away from their problems has never solved anything between them. 

He starts with the easiest part; apologizing. 

“I know I chose a very poor time and way to make the decision to move back to Earth, and I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair to not involve you in that process.”

Chris studies him for a moment before he answers. “Thank you for acknowledging that. And I am sorry for not giving you a reason to stay. I think we both said things we didn’t mean.”

“Yes,” Phil agrees, and sighs. “Yes we did. But just because we chose some crass words doesn’t mean they didn’t hold some truth.” 

There’s silence for a moment while Phil is unsure how to proceed. 

It’s Chris who speaks up, his voice calm, but measured. “Then let me start with what still holds true for me. Your decision hit me out of left field, at the tail-end of a really, really shitty day. I was exhausted and tired and in no condition to be confronted with your anger.” He sighs and Phil wants to interject that he had also had a bad day, but keeps himself in check. There is no more need to argue. They’ve certainly done enough of that, so instead he lets Chris continue. 

“I could have dealt with you being angry, but you just presented me with the choice you had already made, giving me no chance to do anything about it. It really hurt.” Chris rubs a hand over his face, and continues earnestly, “and it still hurts. I feel like I tried to make concessions, and was understanding of your schedules. I thought we were making the best of a complicated situation and that I could trust you to be honest with me if things were no longer working for you.” 

He’s never seen Chris looking so wounded, and hearing the confirmation of what has been weighing heavily on his conscience is even harder than he expected. Throughout the past year he’s been so focused on coming up with what he has perceived as necessary changes, because being Chris’ CMO became too much. He’s struggled with coming to terms with what that means for his career, how they can continue their relationship if he stays on Earth. 

It seems ridiculously egocentric now. 

“I am so sorry,” Phil says, a hot rush of shame welling up in him, “I know you’re not selfish, but I was just at my limit and all that frustration made me lash out. I should have found a better way to address the issues I had with our relationship.”

Chris nods slowly, his gaze darting across Phil, who waits for whatever Chris seems to need to ready himself for. Although what follows hits him square in the chest. 

“Do you want a divorce?” Chris asks plainly, his jaw set and the lines around his mouth drawn hard. “Is that what this is about?”

“No,” Phil replies instantly, shaking his head determinedly. “No, I don’t want to leave you. Never did.”

“But? Will you just tell me what’s wrong, then? Because it seems you couldn’t stay with me either.”

“It was seeing you almost die just one too many times,” Phil says, and Chris blinks but doesn’t interrupt, so Phil continues. 

“I know you take your responsibilities seriously, and I know that you do what you can to not get injured, and that it happens no matter how careful we are, but… we never talk about it, not beyond ‘do you need more painkillers’, and ‘be careful’, and I just-” he stops and sighs. 

“I don’t want you to change, Chris. I don’t want you to stop doing what you love, what you have always wanted to do, and what you excel at. It makes you so happy to be in space and to be in the middle of the action and I would never want you to give that up. Knowing that and how much I have struggled with being your CMO…” 

He gives Chris a sad smile, “it feels like we were at an impasse. I didn’t say anything, because I was scared that it would split us up, and then I ended up almost splitting us up anyway.” He swallows past the lump in his throat. “I am truly sorry, Chris, really, about not communicating, and about what I said.”

“I said stupid things, too,” Chris says. “But I wish you’d sat us down and just talked to me. We could have worked through it, but instead you-” He stops himself and rubs his eyes. “Sorry, let me start over.” 

Phil’s heartbeat is pulsing hard in his throat, but he holds Chris’ gaze when he looks at him again. 

“Phil, I’ve spent this past year doing a lot of thinking; I’ve really fucking missed you. Despite being angry and hurt and upset, I didn’t stop missing you. And it made it clear to me that a long-distance relationship isn’t going to work out.” At that Phil knows his face is clearly showing the dread he feels because Chris reaches out and grabs Phil’s hand. 

“Let me finish, okay?” he asks, his lips curving up in a smile, softening his features. “That’s why I had a meeting with Marcus today, to ask about my options. Apparently they’re looking for a new Commander of Cadets, and my chances of getting that position would be pretty good. If I apply.”

The words take a while to sink in, like a comm call that needs to be cleared up. Then it all rushes in at once. Chris being here with him on Earth. No more close calls. Waking up together, going to sleep together, utterly devoid of fear. But there is another side to it as well. Routine and stability, and Phil can’t help but think of Chris being bored, feeling sidelined, blaming Phil. There is no way Chris will be happy on Earth. Being restricted to one planet simply doesn’t fit with the energy and ambition of Christopher Pike. 

Phil sighs deeply. “Chris, you’ve wanted to explore space your whole life, you’re going to resent being stuck here. You’re going to resent me,” he manages past the lump in his throat, “and I can’t live like that.”

“No,” Chris says, shaking his head a little and maintaining eye contact, wrapping his fingers around Phil’s more tightly. “It’s not a spur of the moment decision, I have had a year to think about this. I love space. But I love you more.” 

“Chris…” Phil starts but has to stop because he has no idea what to say. 

“I’m not saying that it’ll be a walk in the park, it won’t be non-stop butterflies and rainbows. But I want to confront our problems together. I am done with this separation bullshit.”

Finally, the full understanding of what Chris is suggesting is sinking in, spreading warm in Phil’s chest. It is what puts the right words in his mouth, the ones that make Chris’ face light up. 

“I love you.” 

Seeing the way Chris’ smile spreads and his eyes sparkle finally lets Phil breathe again. Especially when Chris answers, “Good. Because I’d be a bit disappointed otherwise.” 

The ease of Chris’ teasing, paired with his charming cockiness are what push aside the last of Phil’s trepidations. They’re going to do this. And he’s not going to throw that chance away. 

“I couldn’t bear to cause you disappointment,” Phil replies with a grin, and then it’s incredibly easy to lean in for the kiss he has been craving. 

They’ve always been good at all things physical, right from the start. But they excel at kissing. It’s the way they fit together so perfectly, how his fingers slide into Chris’s hair almost on their own accord, how every time their lips touch, there is a spark of electricity. They move closer together, so their thighs touch, and Chris tightens his hold of Phil’s back. Instead of need or lust, their kiss is pure joy, like Phil hasn’t felt in so much longer than a year. 

When they finally part, they rest their foreheads against each other. 

“I needed that,” Phil says quietly, his eyes still closed, so he can focus on sensing Chris so close to him.

Chris only hums in response and runs his hand down Phil’s back. 

They continue to sit together in stillness for a few moments, until Chris pulls back, but without letting go of Phil. 

“Do you still have all that piled-up vacation time? Because Commodore Berkel doesn’t retire until the end of the month, and I’m on leave.” He lets the rather obvious suggestion hang in the air, and it makes Phil laugh. 

“I do. I can’t promise how many days I can string together on short notice, but I’m sure I can get a long weekend.” He runs his nails lightly through the short hairs at Chris’ nape, happily watching his husband lean into the caress. 

“Let’s go somewhere. I don’t care where. Just you and me and some uninterrupted time to catch up.” 

“I’d like that,” Phil agrees warmly. 

Silence falls between them again, more comfortable than earlier, as they each continue to touch each other without aim. In the calm that has settled over them, Phil mulls over what they talked about. 

“I am honestly sorry; I should have communicated better,” he says after a few moments, shaking his head in contrition. 

“It’s not like I made it easy for you. I wasn’t exactly there to listen when I went straight to pissed off,” Chris says. “I’m sorry too.”

“I really want us to get better, I don’t want to fight like that again,” Phil says, an idea forming in his head. But he doesn’t know how open Chris will be to it.

“Yeah, me neither,” Chris says on an exhale that is part laugh and part frustration. He pauses, and a small, deliberating frown appears on his face. “Are you thinking of counseling?”

“Yes,” Phil says, “neither one of us wants to break up, it’s not what this is about, but we have been miscommunicating, and I honestly believe counseling can help us there.”

“I agree,” Chris says after a moment. He smiles. “Hell, if anything, we should have done it sooner, considering how badly shit hit the fan.”

Phil laughs at the rather apt description. “That exactly.” He sobers a little. “I think it’ll enable us to better meet each other’s needs. We’ve made progress today, but -”

“But it would have been nice if it hadn’t taken us a whole damn year to get here,” Chris continues.

“Yes. Let’s not do that again.”

“No. I can think of a few things we  _ should _ do, though,” Chris says with a grin, leaning in with obvious intent.

Phil laughs again, he doesn’t think he’s laughed that much the entire year, and kisses Chris once more, slowly, lingering, and full of promise. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
